Breaking Into Earth
by ZG Vallea
Summary: Heero reflects somewhat on his feelings for Quatre.


## Breaking Into Earth

They sat around a small table at dinnertime, eating away as silently as one could be despite the noises of forks and knives upon plates and ice against glasses. The dish that night was stew beef, with sides of mashed potatoes, green beans, and dinner rolls, and the cooks feasted shortly after all the preparations had been completed. The table really was cramped, so much so that they barely had any elbow room; so much so that no matter how Heero shifted, one knee would always brush up against Quatre's. He wouldn't have minded if not for the fact that Quatre continued to push at him as his feet went in the opposite direction, right to Trowa's to be precise.   
  
No, Heero didn't mind at all.   
  
So he thought to himself as he excused himself immediately after finishing, why am I leaving now? But the answer was simple, if logic was applied: the food was tucked away in his stomach now, which had been the whole purpose of dinner in the first place. And staying for idle conversation, despite having heard none during the entire eating period, would have been pointless had it come up. He washed off his plate and silverware, then retired to his room for the evening.   
  
Trying not to think of the way Quatre's knee had been by his as well.   
  
Heero kept himself perfectly still as he examined the way light came in through the slight webbing between his fingers, the way flesh and blood mixed to a healthy, pinkish color. Then, running the same fingers through his dark chocolate hair, he sighed, and turned over onto his side on the bed. Flashes of platinum gold hair streaked his mind, over and over again in an endless repeat, then honest, soulful blue eyes, then an open smile, a hand raised in welcome...   
  
His knee was cold without that small warmth, no matter how it dug into the quilted blankets of the bed.   
  
Never a word out of place; never an emotion untrue. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Heero admitted a long time ago no one was perfect, not even the soldier he claimed to be. But the one that came close, the one that dared to break his record of perfection, chose instead to be with silence.   
  
Silence, with a capital T. Another one with no name, or a borrowed name.   
  
But none of it made any sense to him. Shouldn't Heero be with his opposite, the chatter-box, scatter-brain Duo? The one that joked about death, then dealt it to some poor, unsuspecting fool? Or perhaps even the justice-seeking, fiery-tempered Wufei? Or, if he wasn't taken... Trowa?   
  
No. Just the blond.   
  
With another sigh, Heero rolled to turn off the lights; settling in beneath the covers, he fell asleep. And so, he dreamed.   
  
He floated weightless in the air, staring at the clouds that dotted the sky above. Something else floated further up, but was drifting steadily towards him. Down, down, down until the something appeared to Heero as an angel, all graceful white wings and glistening golden halo. But the face was not so angelic; instead, it marred into a twisted, ferocious satire. For some reason, Heero found himself to be scared then.   
  
The angel lifted a pale hand above its head; light seemed to be sucked into the space just beyond its open palm, condensing into a glowing ball until finally full. The sky was black now.   
  
Suddenly the angel threw down its hand, sending the ball of light hurtling like a falling star, and straight at Heero too. Wide-eyed, Heero didn't know what to do: get blown to ashes by the intense heat being emitted, or fall to die upon the harsh earth, broken. And he couldn't move.   
  
The sphere burst through his chest, making him radiate first with all the colors of the rainbow, then with the pure white of gathered light. Mouth agape, eyes staring blankly, he shook with the enormous mass of pain that seared through him like molten metal. The light made it through his back, only to disassemble on the other side into the clearing sky.   
  
Trembling, Heero lost his weightlessness, and plummeted to the ground. Vaguely, he recognized feathers streaming by as he fell, and the faint image of a kind, shining face.   
  
With a start, he shot up into a sitting position, heartbeat thumping wildly with fright. Slowly, he calmed himself into a normal state, taking deep breaths and concentrating on returning to that nice, steady pace of blood flow to the heart.   
  
Was it just him, or did it sound like there was noise coming from somewhere without the room?   
  
Shaking off the sheets, Heero walked to the door and opened it, peeking his head out as soon as there was enough space to do so. He crossed into the hall, then to a closed door a little ways down from his own. The noise had increased, so he was certain that the source was there. And, if he was not mistaken, he knew what was the cause. His mind grumbling about how foolish he was, he turned the knob, and pushed silently.   
  
Opposite where he looked, upon the bed, under the covers, moved together two bodies in such a rhythm that no motion was out of place. Whispers escaped them, breathy oaths and names mentioned in longing.   
  
Blinking, knowing all along, he shut the door and returned to the safety of his room. And promptly fell back asleep.   
  
The next morning Heero woke to the swelling song of birds outside his window; the day promised to be even more beautiful than all the days before. After washing up and dressing, he journeyed to that blasted small table to see Trowa eating some sort of bran cereal. But since it was already out, he fixed himself a bowl. Sitting across from Trowa, they ate in, mostly, silence.   
  
With a capital T.   
  
"Good morning," sang the voice of the ever-cheerful Quatre, who came in with an equally cheery, yet sleepy, smile. Still clad in his pajamas, though, and not without a certain glow to him. Heero glanced his way, then focused on his food again.   
  
Quatre decided on a bowl of bran as well, and happily munched it away in-between reading the daily paper. Notably, his knee was still warm against Heero's.   
  
Duo and Wufei showed up a little later, taking more cereal away from their dwindling supply. Soon, after many hunger mouths had taken all they could stuff, it was gone. Bowls and spoons went into the sink, and everyone drifted off to their own plans.   
  
Heero noticed as well that his favorite pair left together, so he sat, alone, with the small table and daily paper.   
  
Only it was now silence with a capital H.   
  
In his own fashion and time, he went out into the world beyond their house to stroll the sidewalks and survey the greenery; all very lovely, he decided, but the dream, and what he saw after, stuck and played in his mind. Repeatedly. And sadly, the after images seemed to reoccur the most.   
  
Blatantly, his mind screamed at him to stop, to put an end to his torturing ways, but Heero couldn't. He couldn't draw his thoughts away from witnessing Trowa and Quatre in their most private time. In Quatre's most private time. Madly, he clawed at the idea running freely in him, at the heart-wrenching vision appearing before his eyes, banishing all other sights; at the numbing sounds of the two together, raggedly drawing in air for strength, calling out quietly for more of each other. He couldn't stand it. With all his might, he ran, in no direction, along the sidewalk of the street that only led away from the house. But never the memories.   
  
Lungs burning, he stopped and leaned against a good, solid tree, for despite the fact that he was in great shape, his legs wobbling like a foal taking its first steps. He took in gulps of air as he waited for the physical pain to subside; he did not wait on any other pain. Then, he realized something.   
  
Silence. Sound. Perfection. Near perfection. He could not have one without the other, without its opposite. He knew then that he had been the silent one for too long. Revived, he started back to the house.   
  
They came in shortly after Heero returned, arm in arm and smiling at each other for all the world. They had yet to notice his presence, but they could not ignore him when he spoke.   
  
"Quatre, I'd like to speak to you for a moment in private." Bold but simple. Trowa did not object, and thankfully, neither did Quatre.   
  
He started out with, "First, I'd like to say I care greatly about you Quatre, and that I hope our friendship never changes for the worse. You've been kind to me, and I've tried my best to return the honor."   
  
He finished with, "Quatre, I love you. But no matter what happens, that won't change."   
  
For all that Heero cared for him, Quatre blinked. So he took his cue and left the room for his own, leaving the still-blinking Quatre behind.   
  
Love.   
  
Love.   
  
Love.   
  
A broken record of the word repeated endlessly in his mind. No; a record that only had one word written into it.   
  
Love.   
  
  
After blinking a few more times, Quatre stared at the door as if it were the source of all this confusion. Heero loved him? That was beyond absurd, impossible, unthinkable.   
  
So why was he walking towards Heero's room?   
  
  
He rested again upon his bed, looking at the glowing webbing between his fingers. The door's knob twisted, and the door opened afterwards. Quatre stood in the frame looking very much like he could have started crying.   
  
The record stopped for a second, then Quatre sat down on the bed.   
  
Heero's knee was warm again. 


End file.
